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mouth. She picked up the little black horse. "Yours?"
    Gabria looked up. "Nara is pregnant."

    "Indeed. Then I shal take this and add the mare to my prayers."
    The sorceress walked over to the altar. "Aren't you going to take the other gifts?"
    "Those, young woman, are for you."
    "Me!" Gabria gasped.
    "There is a small but growing belief among the women that you are the blessed of Amara. There have been five births this season and al have been successful. Some women attribute that to your continued presence in the temple. They have brought these gifts to you."
    Gabria was amazed. "But you are Amara's priestess. These gifts should be for you."
    The woman's smile widened, and she shook her head. "I do not need them." She paused, her eyes boring into Gabria's. "But the clan needs you whether it knows it or not. Stay in the light of Amara's grace, and you will weather all the hatred and suspicion the unbelievers throw at you." She came to stand in front of Gabria. The girl tensed, waiting for the rest of the warning.
    "Step out of the light," the priestess continued, her voice low and adamant, "And I promise you, the goddess wil destroy you."
    Gabria nodded once in understanding. The priestess examined her face for a long moment before she stood back, satisfied with what she saw.
    "You wil be home in three months, in time for the celebration of the Birthright. I will look forward to your return."
    The Birthright was the ceremony of thanksgiving to the goddess Amara, for a fruitful birthing season. It was a vital part of the clan's duty to the Mother of All. Gabria could not help but wonder if the rest of the Khulinin would look forward to her return at that time.
    The priestess strode to the entrance. "If the Hunnuli needs help at the time of her birthing, cal for me."
    "Thank you, Priestess,” Gabria said with gratitude. She went to the door and watched the three women walk down the path until they disappeared among the trees.
    For many days after the priestess's visit, Gabria mulled over her words. After so many months of rejection and suspicion, she found comfort in the knowledge that a few clanswomen were beginning to accept her basic goodness and her loyalty to the gods. Sorcery was believed to be a heretical evil and a perversion of the gods' powers. Gabria had believed that herself until she came to understand her powers. Perhaps now the clanspeople were beginning to question their old beliefs, too.
    That was an encouraging thought.
    The only part of the priestess's news that worried Gabria was the rumor about Branth. She wondered if he really was in Pra Desh and if he had the Book of Matrah . She turned cold at that possibility. Everyone believed the Geldring chieftain had stolen the book of spells, so it was very possible that he could be trying to use the knowledge captured within its ancient covers. Gabria hoped with al her heart that he was not, because Branth was as cruel and ambitious as Lord Medb. The gods only knew what kind of trouble the Geldring could devise with his power.
    Gabria wondered, too, what Athlone might do when he learned where Branth was hiding. Clan law granted Athlone every right to seek Branth and exact justice for the murder of his father. But Athlone had responsibilities to the clan to think of. Besides, if Branth had become a practicing sorcerer, Athlone would not have a chance against him.
    Gabria finally shook herself and set aside her disturbing thoughts. She stil had several months left of her banishment, and it seemed senseless to waste her time worrying about a rumor she could not confirm. She brought out her pinecones and returned to her practice of sorcery.
    As the winter days passed, Gabria grew more adept at her spells. Her first attempts to turn the pinecone into a sweetplum were dismal failures. Her plums were either too hard, too sour, or too strange to eat. Final y, one evening, she envisioned exactly what she wanted, spoke the words of her spel , and changed the prickly brown